


all you ever did was wreck me

by SailorChibi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animagus, Cuddling, Draco Malfoy Feels, Fear of Death, Fear of Magic, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Harry Potter is a Good Friend, Harry has PTSD, Harry is an animagus, Hugging, M/M, Ministry of Magic, Nightmares, Not Epilogue Compliant, Platonic Cuddling, Possessive Harry, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Draco Malfoy, Protective Harry, Sad Draco Malfoy, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, Trauma, affection starved, but it will be ok I swear, death is scary, draco has PTSD, draco is scared of magic, fear of touch, happyish ending, harry doesn't want anyone else to die, harry had to grow up too soon, harry is very angry at the world, harry wants to protect draco, house arrest, it's been used for too much evil, might be a little bittersweet, ministry of magic has gone power hungry, platonically sharing a bed, prison break - Freeform, touch repulsed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6261934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, the Ministry decides to make a clean go of it and sentences all Death Eaters to death. After a year spent imprisoned beneath the Ministry, with his mother safely in France, his father dead and only the Aurors who hate him for "company", Draco is waiting for his time to die. </p>
<p>Harry gets to him first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission for a lovely friend of mine who wanted angst and heartbreak with a light at the end of the tunnel. I expect after this she'll be more careful what she wishes for, ha.

It's cold. There is no heating in Azkaban, and for the most part the guards don't care enough to waste their magic on heating charms for prisoners. But what he really notices is the dirt. The floor is stained with old blood and piss, the walls are coated with the dust that comes in through the tiny window on the windiest days, and the bars are smeared with old food. It's the dirt that gets to him the most, in the end, but he tries to comfort himself with the knowledge that by this time tomorrow, none of it will matter.

By this time tomorrow, Draco will be dead.

He sits on the small bench, curled in on himself for warmth, hands and feet hidden inside the robe. He stares straight ahead at the far wall, because there's nothing else to look at and he doesn't want to close his eyes. Not when every time he so much as blinks, he sees his father being led to the middle of the courtyard, and oh - the _pride_ in Lucius's face until the end, when the green light hit him and he collapsed into an undignified mess in the mud.

Draco shivers, fingers flexing inside of his robes, because that will be him tomorrow. He's spent the last few hours practicing how to collapse while completely limp and still look somewhat presentable, because he thinks it's what his mother would've wanted. Never mind that Narcissa had said her goodbyes two weeks ago, one cold hand brushing Draco's cheek before she left, straight to an international floo before the summons for her arrest could hit the desks of the Aurors. He thinks she would want him, at least, to maintain pride into death.

At least there are no Dementors. It’s a bitter comfort, but he won’t go to his death raving mad like so many before him. He touches the scarred place on his arm automatically. At the Ministry’s command, the Aurors burnt the Dark Mark off after the official decree was rolled out, laughing when he lost his composure, and he won’t have that happen again. Looking up into their cold, amused faces was almost worse than the pain.

A thin scraping at the bars catches his attention. Draco looks over listlessly, half-expecting to see his last meal (they won’t feed him tomorrow, because it’ll mean more mess to clean up, and more reason tonight why he shouldn’t bother to eat), but instead it’s… He frowns, straightening up, and realizes that it’s a ferret. A tiny thing, too, with matted black fur, struggling with something. He stares, watching in disbelief as the ferret twists itself around and drags a wand into the cell.

Animagus. There’s no other explanation. Though as faces and names tumble through his brain, he can’t think of anyone who is a ferret. He definitely can’t think of anyone who would risk being sentenced to share his fate just to bring him a wand. He curls his fingers tighter into the scar on his arm, not caring that it makes his fingers shake with the pain of it, and wonders if someone has decided that the Ministry’s decision to kill all Death Eaters with the killing curse is too kind.

The ferret’s little head turns until its eyes are locked on Draco. He jumps when it scuttles closer, banging his head on the wall behind it. Little claws grip his robe and scale his leg quickly, ending up in his lap. It’s a non-existent weight, but Draco holds his breath anyway as he stares into a set of surprisingly intelligent eyes. Up close, he can see that there are lines around the ferret’s eyes in a subtle grey – like spectacles, which is probably the identifying mark all animagus have, but leaves him no hints as to who this could be. 

“If you’re here to kill me, I wouldn’t suggest dragging it out,” Draco says softly. “There’s a guard here who kind of likes me, hard as that might be to believe. Don’t ask me why. But she’d stop you.” He pauses. “Of course, the rest might stop you, too. They believe I should die in shame to atone for my crimes.”

The ferret hisses, an angry sound, and leaps from Draco’s lap. It pointedly looks from Draco to the wand and back again.

“You can’t be serious.”

More hissing.

“I’m not – go away.” 

The ferret glares at him. Then, and Draco can’t resist watching out of the corner of his eye, it pushes the wand across the ground until it bumps against Draco’s bare foot. He jerks away, shivering, because he can’t remember the last time a wand brought him anything but pain and agony, both physical and emotional. If it weren’t for his mother, he might be tempted to take the coward’s way out and die the muggle way (except the killing curse, he knows in his heart, is painless and _easy_ ).

“Go away,” he whispers again. “Don’t you see that I’m ready for it to happen?”

The ferret bites him. Hard. Its little fangs sink deep into his ankle and Draco yelps, startled by how much it hurts. He kicks out instinctively and the ferret goes flying, rolling nose-over-tail into a corner of the cell. When it doesn’t immediately get up again, Draco slowly stands and creeps closer. He bends over the tiny body, pressing his fingers into the scar, wondering if this is something else he’ll have added to his list of crimes tomorrow morning. 

One eye opens to stare up at him, and the ferret gives a single, forlorn squeak.

“Alright,” Draco says, suddenly so weary that it’s difficult to remain standing, not sure why he’s giving up. He carefully picks up the ferret, cradling it close to his body. It’s so warm. 

With his other hand, he carefully picks up the wand. It’s _his_ wand, he realizes with a start, the one that he lost during the war. He doesn’t know what that means. Spells that he hasn’t thought about in months come to his lips. He whispers the unlocking spell and watches as the bars to his cell creak open. Draco steps out into the hall, shivering again. The last time he walked this way, the nice guard was sneaking him out to watch his father die. 

Maybe she’s not so nice after all.

He holds the wand loosely and the ferret closely, walking down the hall. There are no Aurors around because it’s night time, and only the laziest of the Aurors are given night-watch. He walks for what feels like a very long time, quickly wearying, until the ferret squeaks again when Draco starts to turn left. So he turns right, and thereafter the ferret squeaks at him on a regular basis to turn this way or that, until he comes to an old door set deeply into the Ministry’s wall.

Another unlocking spell opens the door, and for the first time in over a year Draco steps out onto the street. It’s deserted, and the world feels very big around him. His hands tremble and he clutches at the ferret, but it squirms free of his grip and leaps down to the cobbled pavement. Draco blinks, cold and bereft, as the ferret grows into the shape of what used to be a familiar person. 

“Draco,” Harry Potter says, flicking some hair out of his eyes and adjusting his glasses. He eyes Draco and shifts a half-step closer, nervous fingers reaching out for Draco's arm.

Draco jerks back again, but this time there's no wall behind him. He could turn and run, but where would he go? The Malfoy fortune, what little his mother didn't manage to squander away to the Blacks in France, was seized by the Ministry and liquidated to help with the war relief. He'll never make it to France on his own; they'll know he's escaped before long, and there will be Aurors after him. They'll have a warrant signed, too, that allows them to curse first and ask questions later. 

"Okay. It's okay," Harry is saying, hands held up, waiting until Draco actually focuses on him to move. And even then it's only to bend down and pluck the wand from the ground, lazily spinning it between his fingers. At one time the cockiness of the move would've made Draco angry, but right now he's just nauseous.

Harry looks him in the eyes then, and it's been such a long time since anyone did that, that Draco just stares back. Harry's smile is tentative, and he says, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry - I have to touch you. To get out of here. Is that -"

What choice does he have?

This time, even though he's tense to the point of trembling, he lets Harry touch him. Harry's hand is just as warm, fingers strong and sure as they wrap around Draco's wrist. Draco shuts his eyes and a moment later feels the familiar wrench of side-along disapparating. It happens three more times before it stops and Draco's feet are touching leaves, not cobblestone. He opens his eyes.

"This is one of my houses. Sirius left it to me. He was my godfather. Your mother's cousin... So your second cousin or first cousin once removed or however the hell it works." Harry's voice is low and quick, strained. "It's shielded by a bunch of spells and charms. I'm not even sure what yet. So I figured it's a good place for us to hide out." He looks at Draco finally.

"What," Draco says, "the hell have you done, Potter?"

This time, Harry's smile is broad. "Did you think I'd just leave you there?" he asks, genuinely curious, smile disappearing as fast as it had come. "I am sorry. Your father..."

"I don't want to talk about him."

"I tried," Harry says at the same time before biting his lip. "Oh, of course. Shit. Erm, sorry. Look, why don't we just -" He gestures to the house, adding somewhat less than helpfully, "You're shivering."

Draco nods, realizing that Harry's right. He is shivering. 

Harry steps closer to the door, which has no handle. He sets a palm against the centre pane and looks over his shoulder. "I'll add you into the wards now that you're here. You'll be able to come and go as you please, though I recommend you don't go beyond the wards. Just because - well, you know."

"I'll be killed," Draco says bluntly, and Harry actually flinches.

"Yes, that," he mutters, and the door glides open silently. 

The inside of the house is small for a Black, but it's clean. Harry shuts the doors, mumbles something about the kitchen, and disappears, leaving Draco alone. After several seconds, Draco goes in the opposite direction. He finds a handful of doors, all of which are open except for one. He assumes that must be Harry's room. The other doors lead to a loo, a small library, and a room with a bed. Draco opts for the library.

It's a wonder to be able to sit on the rug and press his back to a shelf of books. He pulls his knees against his chest and hugs them, breathing in the smell of paper and leather. 

Inevitably, Harry comes looking for him. Instead of getting angry, like Draco expected, Harry sits down in the doorway and stares at Draco with big, sad eyes. 

"Why?" Draco asks, not looking at him.

"Because it's wrong," Harry says simply, and now he sounds angry. "It's... they want to just sweep it all under the rug and pretend it never happened, but you don't get to do that. You don't get to - that's what _he_ did, making his problems go away by killing them, and that's not... It's not right. But no one would listen to me. No one thinks it's worth confronting the Ministry over." And he's even more bitter than angry.

"So you broke into the Ministry, ordered a prisoner to escape, and are now hiding a fugitive from the Ministry because they didn't listen to you?" Draco tries to inject a note of incredulousness into his voice, but he thinks he fails miserably. 

"Pretty much, yeah."

Draco snorts, corner of one mouth almost lifting into a smile. "The years have been about as kind to you as they have to me, apparently."

"I wouldn't go that far." Harry openly looks him over, and Draco curls into himself even more tightly. Harry's mouth presses into a very thin line, and, speaking as though it hurts, he says, "You can go anywhere you like here. Anywhere. Use anything. Eat anything. You're not my prisoner. You don't owe me a life debt. Yell at me. Hit me if you want. Anything." His eyes glitter behind his glasses. " _Anything_."

"Get out," Draco says, half-expecting the command to be refused, but, although Harry's jaw visibly clenches, he clumsily gets up and walks away.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco only leaves the library long enough to take a very quick shower and use the toilet, and even then only when Harry’s not around. New clothing magically appears while he’s showering (using hot water for the first time in months makes him feel impossibly clean): black boxers, a pair of blue jeans, a soft black shirt, and a black robe to wear over it all. The denim is stiff when he pulls it on, but not from dirt. He likes that.

Harry will come to the library door and hover sometimes, mouth opening and closing like he wants to speak but isn’t sure what to say. Usually he ends up keeping quiet and just putting down a little tray of food, nudging it into the room like he thinks Draco might lash out if he gets too close. Pumpkin juice or water, sandwiches, oatmeal, scrambled eggs, pudding or treacle tart. Simple things, all of it legions above what Draco’s used to. He has no fear of Harry trying to poison him, but he still eats sparingly. 

Three days in – Draco’s got good at keeping track of time without being able to see the sun – the house shudders. The familiar feeling of magic being used crawls up Draco’s spine and destroys any and all sense of safety that might’ve developed. He knows this feeling; Lucius had drawn the wards around the manor when the Ministry came for them fourteen months ago, but the Aurors were prepared. They threw increasingly complicated spell work at the strained wards until they collapsed. _Aurors_.

He’s not sure whether to run or to hide, but he’s not familiar with the house, never mind the area. For the first time he regrets seeking solace in the library, even if the walls and books and easy view of the door are comforting. He draws himself up and tries to settle a calm expression on his face, but judging from the look Harry gives him when Harry comes to the doorway, it’s anything but.

“It’s okay,” Harry says. “Draco, it’s okay. It’s just Hermione.”

“Granger?” Draco echoes dumbly. It feels like far longer than just over a year since he’s seen the girl.

Harry nods, biting his lip. “I knew she’d figured it out. She’s mad at me. I – I won’t let her in. I’ll go outside and talk to her. She’ll understand –”

“No,” Draco hears himself say, heart pounding so loud he can barely hear his own voice. Harry opens his mouth and he adds, “Don’t leave.”

Harry looks very, very surprised. “Okay. Can I -”

“Just make her stop,” he whispers, and Harry goes.

Shortly thereafter, the shaking of the house does stop. It takes a little longer before the frantic racing of Draco’s heart slows down too. He’s left feeling breathless, fingers numb from how tightly he’s clutching his arm, and legs weak when he finally forces himself to his feet. He promised his mother he would meet death standing, and he intends to follow through.

“ – just don’t know what the hell you were thinking, Harry! This is dangerous. This is _beyond_ dangerous. Right now the Ministry is trying to keep Malfoy’s escape quiet for the sake of their reputation, but that won’t happen forever. Pretty soon it’ll be into the media. The Daily Prophet will get hold of it. It'll be pandemonium. And you know someone is going to suspect you, if they don’t already. Do you know what they could do to you?”

“Hermione –”

“I mean, first of all, you’re an unregistered animagus. That’s bad enough. You’re already breaking one law. But then you broke into the Ministry and helped a prisoner to escape! Not just any prisoner either, mind you, but a Death Eater!” Granger’s voice is reaching new heights of shrillness and Draco flinches.

“Would you just –”

“You know Death Eaters are on the Ministry’s worst offenders list! Do you realize what they’ll do if they catch you? It won’t matter that you’re Harry Potter. You’ll be killed! And all to save the life of –”

“That’s _enough_ ,” Harry says, so sharply that Granger actually obeys. “Hermione, listen to yourself. Death Eaters are still people. Draco is still a person. He doesn’t deserve this. You know that. You told me yourself that you thought this was wrong when the Ministry first made its decision.”

Granger remains quiet for a moment. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she whispers finally. “Harry, I just – this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, and that includes the time you decided to smuggle a dragon out of Hogwarts at eleven years old. They could kill you and no one could stop them.”

“They could try,” Harry sys, and Draco is close enough to see them now. Granger is dressed stylishly, hair done up in a bun, though from the escaping curls it looks like she’s been tugging at it. Harry is vibrant with anger, arms folded, not touching his wand yet.

“Why didn’t you come to me before you did something so reckless?” Granger continues, touching his arm. “We could’ve filed an appeal of some kind. There must be a legal loophole.”

“They were going to kill him two days ago. What good would an appeal have done then?”

She winces and her eyes fall on Draco. She goes pale, straightening up. “This is still foolish,” she says, almost apologetic now. “You were so openly against this from the beginning. I’m certain that your name is already circulating amongst the Aurors. They’ll be trying to find you. How long do you think you can hide out before they do?”

Harry shifts his weight, moving in front of Draco, nearly obscuring him from view completely. “As long as it takes. We’ll hide here for a while. No one knows where it is but you. When the time is right, we’ll go to France. Or the U.S. Anywhere that doesn’t have an extradition agreement with England.”

“You’ve really thought about this,” Draco says.

“Yes, I have.” Harry doesn’t look at him, keeping his gaze fixed on Granger. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t run off without a plan every damn time. Especially when it’s something this important.”

That makes Granger pause. She looks over Harry’s shoulder at Draco. She sighs. “What can I do to help?”

“Won’t that make you an accessory?” Harry asks, a little meanly.

“That’s not fair, Harry. You can’t expect me to wake up to the news that Malfoy’s escaped from prison and not be able to get into contact with you and not freak out.” Granger folds her arms. “Right now, you’re both pretty high up on the Ministry’s Most Wanted list. I have the feeling you’re not going to give in on this without a fight –”

“I’m not,” Harry interrupts. “I mean it. If they want Draco, they’ll have to kill me to get to him.”

Draco inhales sharply. Granger just closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose, and carries on. “Then we have to figure out a way to do this. And then we have to fix your hero complex.”

“Call it whatever you want,” Harry says, and this is clearly an old argument. “I don’t care. It’s _wrong_. And I won’t stand by and just let it happen anymore. If it takes this kind of drastic measure to make people stop putting their heads in the sand and ignoring it –”

“I wasn’t ignoring it –”

“ – because that’s everyone was doing –”

“ – I’ve been trying to help –”

“ – and that’s not what you told me before, you said to let it go –”

“ – but _legally_ , trying to get the decree overturned –”

“ – and I still can’t believe you said that to me.”

“ – because I knew you’d do something stupid!”

Granger has a glare on her face, and Draco suspects that Harry does as well. So he’s even more surprised when Granger groans and runs her fingers through her hair, loosening the bun. She looks more like her old self with her hair around her shoulders, resigned and pale but determined.

“Let’s not fight about methods,” she says slowly. “I know you’re mad. Can you put it aside for now?”

“Yes,” Harry says.

No, Draco thinks, but doesn’t say. He catches Granger’s eye and knows she’s thinking the same thing.

“You have every right to be mad, but this kind of anger isn’t doing anyone any good. We have to be very calm and approach the Ministry in the right way, or they’ll haul us all in for treason without listening to a word of explanation. I didn’t live through Voldemort just to go down because of the Ministry.”

“None of us did,” says Harry, but a little less bitterly. “We?”

“Yes, we. I’ve been working on some things,” she says, not looking at either of them. “It wouldn’t have been in time to save Malfoy, you’re right. They were at the top of the Ministry’s list. But –”

“Will it make them see reason?” Harry asks.

Granger laughs a little. “Reason? Oh, Harry. This is the Ministry we’re talking about. The only thing that might save you is the public’s opinion, though Malfoy…” She looks back at Draco, and her face is surprisingly kind. “No one thinks highly of you right now. I don’t know that even the reputation of the Boy-Who-Lived will be enough. I have to talk to Professor McGonagall.”

Draco tenses, not liking the thought of anyone else knowing where they are. It’s bad enough that Granger knows. 

“It’s okay,” Harry says, half-twisting to look at him. They’re closer than Draco realized, Harry’s back nearly flush to his chest, and Harry must have felt him tense. “It’s okay, Draco. I won’t let anyone take you away.”

There’s a very peculiar expression on Granger’s face, but all she says is, “Professor McGonagall likes both of you, and she vehemently disagrees with the Ministry’s decree. She’ll be discreet, I promise.”

“Go.” Harry keeps looking at Draco, even though he’s speaking to Granger. “And be careful, Hermione. I won’t hesitate to get angry if any Aurors show up.”

“As though you’re not now,” Granger says under her breath, rolling her eyes. She twitches, as though wanting to do more, but evidently decides against it. She strides out of the house, the door closing smoothly behind her, and Draco’s legs feel even weaker now that she’s gone.

“Sit down, here.” Harry turns fully, not touching him but very close again, ushering Draco over to the sofa. Draco’s knees bend of their own accord, dumping on the cushion. Harry slips into the kitchen and comes back with two glasses of pumpkin juice, one of which he offers to Draco. Draco takes it and sips automatically, the familiar taste helping to brush the cobwebs from his head.

They sit in silence for several minutes. Draco’s head is spinning. He never believed he would hear Harry Potter defending him so vehemently. It was so much of what he’d wanted as a child that he doesn’t even know what to do with it. Particularly now. Granger was more than likely correct when she accused Harry of having a hero complex, but Draco doesn’t understand why or how he’s become the focus of it. Why him? Why, after everything he’s done, has Harry decided to risk his life to save _him_?

“You haven’t slept much since we got here,” Harry says quietly. The ire is gone from his voice. He’s calmer, but like the eye of a storm: ready to flare up again at a moment’s notice should he be provoked. Yet oddly, this whole time that rage has never once been directed towards Draco. For a moment, Draco’s tempted to try provoking it – yet he’s so very tired.

“I don’t sleep well lately,” he says flatly, drawing the robe closer around his shoulders.

“Me either.” Harry looks over at him. “Would you mind - ?” He doesn’t finish his sentence, just sets his untouched glass aside and shifts, becoming a ferret again. Draco holds very still as the ferret crosses the sofa and settles on his knee, curling up into a little ball.

Tentatively, he runs a finger down the ferret’s back. The fur is soft, like cotton, against his fingertips. Harry – does he have an animagus name? Draco should ask – squeaks and arches into the touch, then puts his head down and closes his eyes. Draco keeps petting him for a long time, barely noticing when his own eyes slip shut, hand coming to rest on Harry’s fur, and he falls asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco lurches awake, a scream catching in his throat, staring up at the dark ceiling. He’s not sure what woke him up: for once, he doesn’t remember having a nightmare. He shivers in silence, clutching the covers on his bed, and then hears a cry through the bedroom wall. In his mind’s eye, he can see Harry tossing and turning in the middle of a nightmare. It’s too similar to the cries of the other prisoners that he used to have to listen to throughout the night.

He stays where he is, trying not to listen, until mercifully Harry stops yelling. There’s a few, precious minutes of silence, and then the floor outside of Draco’s door creaks. He jumps before he can stop himself, heart rate picking up a little, and strains his ears to better listen. The footsteps keep moving past his door, and a moment later he hears the sound of glasses clinking in the kitchen.

The chances of Draco managing to fall back asleep are minimal at this point, so he gets up too. The floor is cold but he barely notices, fumbling in the dark for his clothing. At one point, not so very long ago, he would have turned up his nose at the idea of wearing the same clothing for two days in a row, never mind several – woven-in refreshing charms or not. After wearing the same filthy robe for a year, his standards have grown somewhat lax. His mother would be horrified.

He pads out to the kitchen and finds Harry sitting at the table, head in his hands, kettle bubbling away on the stove. Draco slides into the other seat unasked, keeping his hands in his lap. It’s been four days since Granger was here, but he’s no closer to figuring Harry out. The man blows hot and cold about everything except for Draco; with Draco, that everlasting, tentative gentleness is always in play. It makes Draco feel at once fragile and cared for, and he’s not at all sure he likes it, but he’s also not sure getting into a fight with Harry right now is a valid option either.

Harry’s anger is something legendary, running deep and cracked, and the sarcastic quips of their youth seem paltry in comparison. Draco doesn’t know if he has enough energy left to react, much less counteract, if the force of it were turned on him. But the question of _why_ he’s the only island in this ocean remains constant.

The kettle whistles, breaking the heavy silence, and Harry sighs. He gets up and prepares the tea in silence, setting two cups, milk and sugar on the table. Draco hasn’t had tea in months, and when he prepares it just right, the taste is heavenly. He closes his eyes to better enjoy the way the warmth pools in his stomach, and when he opens them again he’s just in time to see Harry looking away quickly. Even as Draco watches, a light blush crawls up the back of Harry’s neck. That’s… huh.

He didn’t factor this possibility in.

Harry looks back at him suddenly, but his expression has gone alert. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Draco says, confused, and then he _does_ hear it. It’s like a low whining sound, but sharp enough to make the hair on his arms rise. He twists to look in the same direction as Harry, but the view out the window looks no different. The glass is warded, of course, so that even someone inside the wards can’t look in, but for the first time it occurs to him that the glass can just as easily be cursed.

“I think – shit,” Harry hisses, reaching for the wand holster he keeps strapped to his ankle at all times. He draws his wand, standing. “Draco, there’s someone out there. I can feel it. And they're not friendly. It’s got to be Aurors; they must have followed Hermione, though I don’t know what took them so long.”

“They might have been watching,” Draco offers. That’s what they did to the manor; eyes on the walls for _days_ , until the Ministry got tired of trying to wait them out and shattered the wards. He hasn’t left the house, and neither has Harry as far as he knows. Yet the Aurors know they’re here, so Harry’s right. It had to be Granger. He swallows, numb everywhere except for the pit of his stomach, which has gone cold.

“She didn’t betray us, Draco. Hermione wouldn’t. Neither would Professor McGonagall. Hermione just didn’t – she’s not an Auror, she didn’t have the training with me and Ron, she wouldn’t think about hiding her signature the way that I did. Damn it.” Harry runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t know how strong these wards are. They’re old, and the people they would’ve been tied to are dead. We have to go.”

Draco stares at him. “Go?” he echoes blankly.

“Yes.” The hard lines in Harry’s face don’t soften, exactly, but he’s making an obvious effort to be kinder when he says, “You don’t think I’m going to just leave you to them, do you? After all the work I did to get you out in the first place? I don’t think so.”

“Why?” It’s not the place, and certainly not the time, but the question just falls out of Draco’s mouth anyway.

For the first time, Harry looks uncertain. “Why what?”

“You hated me when we were in school. We never got along. Why are you going to such great lengths now? You don’t owe me anything. If this is about the debt you owe my mother –”

“It’s not. It’s… Look, can we talk about this later? You know, when there aren’t Aurors outside?”

The house shudders for the second time in less than a week, and this time a simple request won’t be enough to make it stop. Draco sits, frozen, until Harry surges around the table, grabbing his arm and pulling him up. The feel of his fingers makes every inch of Draco want to put distance between them, but there’s no time. Harry hauls him into the sitting room, where the only fireplace in the whole house is located.

“I don’t even know if the Floo is hooked up. I was counting on us hiding here a while longer,” he mutters, dropping Draco’s arm in favour of scrabbling around in search of Floo powder. He locates the jar and swears violently, tipping it upside down. A fine dusting of powder trickles out, not nearly enough to transport a baby much less a full grown man.

“Disillusion me and change into your animagus form,” Draco says impulsively. “It’ll be easier for me to get away. I’ve had experience at going unnoticed.” More experience than he wants to own up to, but for once that hellish time spent with the Dark Lord and the worst of the Death Eaters in the manor might be of use. Plus, though he doesn’t actually say, if Draco goes down, it will give Harry an opportunity to run. Not that he will, the stubborn Gryffindor, but at least he’ll have had the chance.

“Absolutely not. I’m going to -”

“Get us both killed if you go out there on your own,” Draco says, and he sounds calm, a hell of a lot calmer than he feels when the whistling is getting louder and the floor is trembling beneath his feet. “You only have one wand, and I can’t –” fear cuts him off, his throat tightening at the thought of letting anyone use a wand on him, even Harry, and he has to force himself to keep talking “- you can’t transfigure me into anything. You don’t know how.”

“I didn’t know you’d watched me so closely during Transfiguration,” says Harry, an odd look on his face.

“I watched you all the time,” Draco says absently, because it’s true, and he’s beyond caring about who knows it now. “The fact remains that you can’t protect us both, especially not again the amount of Aurors out there, and you’ll end up getting us both killed. Or worse, depending on if the Ministry decides they want to make an example out of us.” And oh, his stomach twists just saying it, chills racing down his spine.

Harry visibly grits his teeth. “You sure you won’t let me turn you into a button?”

“No. And I’m not an animagus, so don’t even ask.”

“I’ll teach you,” Harry says, and it feels like a promise. “Do you hear me, Draco?”

“Yes. I hear you.”

“Good.” Harry holds out the wand and Draco takes it, only realizing after the smooth wood is in his hands just how must trust Harry must have in him. Because it would be easy, too easy, for him to turn this wand on Harry and make a run for it on his own. For that matter, for all Harry knows he’s lying about being an animagus.

“I brought my Invisibility Cloak. It’s just there, by the door, in my pack. Disillusion yourself and take it with you as an extra precaution. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not a Gryffindor,” Draco says, genuinely insulted, and that’s when Harry smiles crookedly, darts forward and pecks him on the mouth.

It can hardly be called a kiss, it’s so short, and before Draco has even finished wrapping his mind around the fact that it even happened, Harry is changing. A little ferret is scaling his leg a moment later. Draco just stares dumbly, only jolted into moving when he feels a sharp nip of teeth in his thigh. Right. Aurors. The Ministry. 

He disillusions himself, shuddering at the unappealing sensation, and hauls Harry’s cloak over his head seconds before the wards break with a high-pitched ring that makes his teeth ache. His heart feels like it's going to pound right out of his chest as the Aurors pour into the room; the familiar crimson robes bring back dreadful memories, and it takes everything he has to remain standing. He backs into a corner, waiting for his moment, but they just keep coming until there’s easily twenty or more in the house. They've all got their wands up and it's only a matter of seconds before someone sees him - 

And that's when Harry, the bastard, breaks their plan. He skitters down Draco’s leg, slinks across the floor, and attacks the nearest Auror. The man screams like a banshee and kicks out wildly, much like Draco did in the cell. Harry goes flying across the room and all the Aurors turn, wands held at the ready, to watch their colleague dance about like an absolute idiot. Draco starts edging his way around the room to get to Harry.

“Seriously, Rollins?” the only Auror with gold trim on his robes - the leader - says scathingly. "It's just a fucking rat. Get over yourself!"

"I hate rats," Rollins whines. "Is it on me? I feel like it's still on me."

Draco rolls his eyes as he slips the cloak over Harry's body. He can feel the tiny chest moving beneath his fingertips, but for all he knows Harry is on the verge of dying. The _bastard_.

"It's gone. Pull it together," another Auror snaps, giving Rollins a hard shove. "Focus on the mission!"

Hardly daring to breathe, Draco slips out the door. There's even more Aurors outside, patrolling the grounds, and the feeling of so many charms and spells being woven at once is cloying and heavy on his shoulders. Draco doesn't stop to look around; he clutches Harry against his chest and _runs_.

"Oi!" someone shouts behind him.

Draco runs faster, as fast as he can when his lungs are burning, and makes it to the trees just as the first curses start flying. He stops about two minutes in, gasping for breath, and picks up a small rock from the ground. His hand is shaking when he points the wand at it, and all he can think about is what the hell he's going to do if Harry is really dying or if the Aurors have thought this far ahead because this is a rare talent and so maybe they haven't, and through it all the only safe place that comes to mind is where this all began.

He wants to go _home_.

He whispers the incantation for a portkey, stuttering over the words, and wraps trembling fingers around the glowing pebble. With another whisper, just as Aurors start storming the clearing, he disappears.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco’s aim is slightly off, and they end up about twenty minutes away from Hogsmeade. The closest they can get to Hogwarts, what with the extensive wards surrounding the castle, because only the Headmaster of Hogwarts has the power to make portkeys that will travel through the wards. He sits down hard on the ground and just breathes for a moment, feeling shaky and weak now that the adrenaline is starting to leave.

That was close. Too close. If the Aurors were even slightly more prepared, they would’ve been caught. He starts to shiver and can’t stop. He’s been on the wrong end of an Auror’s wand more than once; some of them, after the Death Eaters were brought to the Ministry, believed the prisoners were free target practice. And that would’ve been a walk in the park compared to what an Auror could get away with under the guise of self defence. The Killing Curse would be a merciful way to die.

He looks down at Harry, who is still and quiet in his arms. At least he’s breathing, the little chest rising and falling rhythmically. Draco touches the tiny body with trembling fingers, but he can’t discern whether anything is wrong. He’s too unfamiliar with animals. He thinks that one of Harry’s arms might be broken, but the risk is too great that by trying to help, he’ll do more damage. There’s only one person within walking distance that he can think of who could help.

“Gotta move,” he mutters to himself, slowly getting to his feet. He leans heavily against a tree, catching his breath. The Invisibility Cloak is still covering them both, which is the first stroke of luck Draco’s had all day: he’s so exhausted and his magic is worn thin, and it won’t be long before his disillusionment charm breaks. For a moment, he lets himself dream of his broom. He’s not sure what happened to it – it was seized with the rest of his belongings – but he suspects the Ministry sold it along with everything else.

It would make life easier, but he doesn’t have it. And he has no money to purchase one even if he could walk though Hogsmeade without inciting widespread panic. So he starts to walk, keeping to the forest and avoiding Hogsmeade completely. He doesn’t know what the date is, but he doesn’t run into any Hogwarts children even when he stumbles across the familiar path, so it can’t be a Hogsmeade weekend. He starts following the path, panting quietly.

His muscles are weak after months of only being able to pace a small, cramped room, but Draco forces himself to keep walking. It takes much, much longer than it should for him to walk the distance. Based on where they landed, it should only take him about an hour to walk back to Hogwarts – but the sun is high in the sky by the time he makes it to the castle grounds, and he knows he’s been walking for hours, probably moving at a pace that would set a snail to shame. His disillusionment charm is long-since gone, and he has to be even more careful.

Here, though, he runs into students, and he has to be more careful to make sure he doesn’t bump into anyone. Seeing them all hurts in a way he’s not familiar with, deep down in the pit of his stomach. They all look so _happy_ ; they’re laughing and shouting, they’re studying, they’re walking around enjoying the sun, and the sheer amount of jealousy that Draco feels leaves him breathless. He stares at them with longing, because that could’ve been him. That _was_ him, so long ago, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever back to that.

Harry stirs, rubbing his face against the scar on Draco’s arm where the mark used to be, and Draco jumps. He looks down at Harry, hoping, but Harry’s eyes don’t open. But it does get Draco moving again, carefully crossing the last hundred feet to his destination: Hagrid’s hut.

At one point, he would’ve cut off his own wrist before coming to Hagrid for help. As it is, he doesn’t know if Hagrid will be willing to help him (for all he knows, Hagrid might take one look at him and call the Ministry) but at the very least, he knows Hagrid will help Harry. He gets out of sight of the students as much as he can and raises a shaking hand, knocking at the door.

Something starts to bark and Hagrid’s low voice rumbles in response, shushing the animal. A moment later the door swings open and Draco half-falls inside, just barely missing Hagrid’s large body. The Invisibility Cloak snags on a splinter in the door frame and slides off, silky and luminescent, hitting the ground and revealing Draco. The boarhound growls at him, showing its teeth, but Draco just stares in exhausted silence.

“What’re ya doin’ here, Malfoy?” Hagrid asks, shutting the door and eyeing him.

By way of response, Draco holds out the ferret in his arms. Any fear that Hagrid might not recognize him is dashed when Hagrid sighs, long and loud, and takes the fragile body in his big hands. “Ah, ‘Arry,” he mutters, more to himself than to Draco, sounding at once exasperated and affectionate. “The things ya get into. What happened?”

“The Ministry,” Draco says hoarsely, throat aching with dryness. “He was trying to distract them. One of them kicked him across the room.”

Hagrid nods, turning away and lumbering across the room. He pays no more attention to Draco, and suddenly the floor is looking like a very comfortable spot. Draco sits down, curling himself into the corner where he won’t draw as much attention, because Hagrid seems to have forgotten about him and maybe that means he won’t call the Ministry. The boarhound creeps closer, eventually flopping down beside him with a heavy sigh.

Draco doesn’t mean to, but he falls asleep. The cabin is dark, with only natural sunlight through the windows for lighting, and the boarhound is a warm presence at his side. He sleeps better than he has in months, better even than when Harry curled up on his knee, and wakes up very slowly as a result. His face is pressed against the boarhound’s side, and his shoulder is wet where the creature’s been drooling. Hagrid’s voice, still loud even in an attempt to be quiet, fills the room.

“ – just foolish, ‘Arry, you should know better than to do something like that.”

“I told you, Hagrid, I’m fine.”

“You couldn’t’ve thought’a some other way?”

“Rollins is petrified of rats or anything that looks like them. Everyone knows that. He lost it during the Auror training when he had to enter a building that was infested. I knew he’d freak out and no one would think twice about it. And it worked, didn’t it?”

Hagrid snorts. “And ya broke your arm as a result.”

“Madame Pomfrey can fix it,” Harry says dismissively, not sounding too alarmed. “Getting Draco out of there was more important. Is he okay?”

“Dunno.”

“Hagrid!”

“He’s over there. Looks fine.”

Harry sighs, but it’s not necessarily an angry sound, and it hits Draco that maybe he’s not the only exclusion to Harry’s fury. He’s not sure how that makes him feel.

“Draco’s important to me, Hagrid. I know he was awful to you when we were in school, but everything’s different now. He’s changed. Please don’t call the Ministry.”

Draco can’t help stiffening, fingers clenching in the boarhound’s fur, and he completely misses the quiet footsteps moving towards him. A few seconds later, a hot hand drops onto his head and strokes through his hair. He looks up at Harry, who is kneeling beside him. Harry’s arm is in an awkward, makeshift sling, and his hair is mussed and his face is streaked with dirt, but his expression is soft enough with something Draco can’t identify to make Draco’s stomach clench. 

“You’re okay?” Harry asks, hand sliding down to cup Draco’s cheek.

“I’m fine.” Draco intends for it to come out sharp, but it sounds more breathless. He aches all over from head to toe, especially his legs and feet, but it’s nothing compared to the guilt he feels when he sees the unnatural angle of Harry’s arm. He tries not to let it show, calling up a neutral mask instead.

But it doesn’t seem to work. Harry just smiles, impossibly affectionate, and sits back on his heels to look over at Hagrid. “Can we stay here for a little while? Just until we know what’s going to happen?”

“Course,” Hagrid says gruffly, strange look on his face. “But I’ll hav’ta tell the headmistress you’re here.”

Draco tenses, but Harry nods. “That’s fine. Thanks Hagrid.”

Hagrid nods back and walks over to the door. “Fang’ll stay with you,” he says, stepping out. The door closes behind him as the boarhound – Fang – yawns loudly, letting more slobber roll onto Draco’s shoulder. He makes a disgusted face and Harry laughs.

“There you are,” he says, amused, pulling Draco up a little and out of reach. “I was beginning to wonder if the Ministry had switched you with someone else.”

“You were certainly out long enough for that to happen,” says Draco, and Harry winces a little.

“It was the best thing to do,” he says defensively. 

“It was a stupid, Gryffindorish thing to do,” Draco replies.

Harry shrugs with one shoulder. “Not really a Gryffindor anymore,” he points out. “Just like you’re not a Slytherin. We’re not students anymore, remember?” His gaze is intent.

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t stupid,” Draco mutters, mildly chastised. Harry’s right. It’s odd; he didn’t think of that kind of stuff the whole time he was in prison, but as soon as he’s back with Harry… He looks back at Harry. “Why did you break me out of prison?”

“Because it was the right thing to do.”

“The best thing to do, the right thing to do… you’ve become a walking poster child while I was locked up.”

Harry snorts. “Not exactly. Just trying to make up for some of the wrong I’ve done over the years.” He looks regretful, thumb rubbing Draco’s cheek. “And also… I mean, it’s you. You drive me crazy, but it was so weird not having you around. You were… a constant in my life when we were at Hogwarts. I could always count on you to be doing something weird and sneaky I had to figure out.” His mouth quirks in a grin, then shifts into something shaky. “I need something constant, Draco. I need you.”

The only thing that Draco can think to say is, “I’m not the person I was at Hogwarts. I’m different.” Because it’s true. That Draco never flinched away from contact, or woke up screaming, or was – for all intent and purposes – an orphan. That Draco had money and power and a family name that mattered. The Draco he is now is on the run from the law, has nothing to his name, and sometimes it feels like it’s all he can do to hold himself together.

“So am I. The war changed everyone. But I guess… how I respond to you… that hasn’t changed. Maybe it’s the only thing that never would. As Hermione would put it, I’m still just as obsessed with you now as I was before. I followed your so-called trial, and I searched the news every day for any scrap of information about you. I trained for months to become an animagus, Draco. Just to break you out.”

Knowing that someone, that _anyone_ , cares this deeply makes Draco shiver again. He can’t deny that the majority of his waking thoughts from age eleven on have been about Harry Potter. And a fair few dreams as well, if he’s being honest. He’s just never let himself think about it in this kind of context, even though multiple people have mentioned the possibility… it’s just seemed impossible until now.

“I can’t give you what you want,” Draco says tiredly, because right now Harry’s touch feels good, but tomorrow it could be terrifying.

“All I want is for you to not be in prison. Even if you run off in the middle of the night, knowing you’re out there somewhere would be enough, I think.”

“I don’t even know if I can give you that,” Draco points out, but he holds up a hand and Harry’s hand slips away from his cheek so that he can take it. They get to their feet, and, much to Draco’s surprise, he realizes that Harry is a couple inches taller than he is. When did that happen?

“Then we’ll go on the run together,” Harry says, as though it’s really as simple as all that, and squeezes Draco’s hand, and Draco stares at him. 

“You’re crazy,” he says, but not bitingly, wonderingly, and Harry grins.


	5. Chapter 5

The two days they spend in Hagrid’s hut are cramped, to put it mildly, but it’s still a larger space than what Draco is used to. Harry disappears for a short amount of time after Hagrid returns, and he comes back with a sheepish smile, flushed cheeks and a healed arm. Draco eyes him but decides that it’s probably best not to ask, especially when he falls asleep that night with a boarhound curled up around him and a ferret on his lap. 

It’s a weird sort of existence – Harry is eager to help Hagrid out, but Draco mostly just tries not to get in the way. He’s had too much experience with people who wanted a taste of revenge, and Hagrid would have every right to want the same for himself after what Draco’s done to him over the years. So he keeps to the corners of the room, telling himself that he’s not hiding, but too aware of just how large Hagrid is and what the half-giant could do to him if Hagrid got mad. He doesn’t speak to Hagrid, barely talks to Harry and just keeps his mouth shut.

On the third morning, there’s another knock at the door. Hagrid opens it and Fang yawns a welcome as Granger steps inside, looking far more harried than she had the last time Draco saw her. Everything in him seizes up, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to run away or grab the Invisibility Cloak. She led the Aurors to them last time, and he knows the Aurors won’t be so stupid _next_ time, so her presence here is spelling out his death. 

But Granger looks at him with a genuinely regretful look, and the first words out of her mouth are, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea they were following me. If I’d known, I would’ve been more careful. Are you okay?”

She can’t be talking to him. He looks at Harry.

“We’re fine, Hermione,” Harry says, taking a couple steps closer to Draco. “Or at least we will be as long as you’ve brought good news with you. And as long as you’ve masked your signature this time.”

Granger winces at the mild admonishment, but nods. “I did. I have. Even though I don’t think me coming to Hogwarts would be reason enough to -” She cuts herself off at the expression on Harry’s face. “I masked it, I swear. But it doesn’t matter. The Ministry already knows you’re here.”

Draco goes cold all over, and it’s like everything in his mind grinds to a complete stop.

“Hermione!” Harry snaps, and gets close enough to wrap an arm around Draco’s waist, taking his weight. “What the fuck?”

“It’s okay, really,” Granger says urgently, hands held up in front of her face, looking just a little frightened. “Professor McGonagall had to go talk to them. I wasn’t getting anywhere. They were ignoring the mail I sent and refusing to see me. It’s much harder to ignore the Headmistress of Hogwarts. She spoke to the Minister yesterday at length, and in order to work things out she had to admit that you were here.”

That means that the Aurors could’ve come at any point over the past twenty-four hours. Draco thinks he might be shaking. His legs won’t support him anymore; if it weren’t for Harry, he’d be on the ground right now. Everything Granger is saying is muffled, and it feels like she’s speaking from a long distance away. He has to strain to listen, not that he wants to.

“And?” Harry says tersely, looking around the hut, like he’s looking for the fastest possible escape route.

“I think it’s going to be okay. It wasn’t like before, when the Ministry could just lump Draco in with all of the other Death Eaters and make the decree across the board that they should all be executed.” She grimaces, the word leaving a bad taste in her mouth. “She laid out all the facts. Draco was underage when he was forced to take the Dark Mark. It’s a grey area that the Ministry’s never had to deal with before, but it helps that there’s no record he ever killed or tortured someone.

“She also pointed out that he’s one of the few Death Eaters who didn’t resist arrest beyond hiding behind wards, and he’s been a model prisoner over the past year. Even when his father died and they made you watch.” Her expression does something complicated, and Harry’s grip tightens to the point of pain.

“They made you _what_?” he hisses.

They’re both looking at him now, and Draco doesn’t know what to say or do. “The guard was trying to be nice,” he hears himself say dully. “She said it was my last chance to see him.”

Granger’s face goes soft with pity. “Oh, Draco, that wasn’t nice,” she says, very gentle, like she’s talking to a child. “They did that on purpose. I’ve been doing some research into the records I have access to and it looks like no one was monitoring the Aurors who were guarding the Death Eaters. Apparently a lot of them decided that it was the perfect time for some revenge. Several of the Death Eaters had unexplained injuries before their deaths, but until now no one was willing to look into it too closely.”

His mind flashes back, unwillingly, to his father, and the proud way that Lucius walked towards the stage. Had his father been injured at the time? Tortured? He doesn’t know why he didn’t put two and two together before, but the idea makes him feel ill.

“Needless to say, the Aurors are in a ton of trouble right now. Somehow, this leaked to the media.” Granger smirks, crossing her arms. “The Malfoy name doesn’t hold much sway, but obviously Harry is behind you and that means a lot more than the Ministry wants to admit. McGonagall was able to work out a deal with them. The death sentence is off the table and, until they’re able to do a full investigation into what happened, you’re under house arrest.”

“I don’t have a house,” Draco says.

“Here at Hogwarts, Draco. You’re being confined to Hogwarts grounds,” Granger explains. “So long as McGonagall agrees to take full responsibility for anything you might do, and she has. You’re free, if somewhat restricted, unless you break the law again. Which I recommend you don’t, as the whole Auror Division is in complete disarray right now and they would come down on you like there’s no tomorrow.”

Draco just stares at her. The only thing he can think to ask is, “And Harry?”

“They suspect him, but they can’t prove anything. So Harry is, technically, legally free to go.”

It all sounds too good to be true. Draco can’t wrap his mind around it. A week ago he was practicing how to die, and now he’s free – if confined to Hogwarts, but honestly he can’t think of anywhere he would rather be. The Manor is gone, and Hogwarts is the only other home he’s ever known. 

“I need to sit down,” he says, and Harry practically carries him over to the table and makes him put his head between his knees. Granger fusses around, eventually bringing over a hot cup of tea that’s liberally sweetened with sugar, and holds it to his mouth until he has no choice but to drink. Draco shudders at the first taste, but it helps to clear some of the fog from his head.

“I take it you’re staying here with him,” Granger says to Harry, still holding the cup to Draco’s lips.

“Of course.” Harry’s hand is warm and strong on Draco’s upper back. “Hermione, I haven’t been sure of anything ever since the war ended. Draco is the one thing I _am_ sure about. You said it yourself, I’m obsessed with him.”

Draco’s cheeks go hot, and Granger sighs. “I didn’t think you’d take that as incentive,” she says wearily. “Harry, I just hope you know what you’re doing. This…” she waves her free hand at them, “isn’t exactly healthy. And saving Draco… it won’t make up for everything you feel you’ve done wrong.”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me,” Harry says sharply. “I don’t need it, and neither does Draco. Maybe it’s not healthy, but after what we went through I’d challenge you to find anyone who is.”

Before she can respond, Draco pushes her hand away, having had his fill of the too-sweet tea, and says, “Thank you for your help, Granger. But I think that Harry and I can take it from here.”

Granger looks back and forth between them, then sighs. “At least let me accompany you up to the castle. You can wear Harry’s cloak, but I’d like to come along just in case something goes wrong. Professor McGonagall has the documentation to give you so that you can sign it and make it official, and you have meetings with the Ministry later and she’s meeting with the professors and an official announcement is due to go out in the _Prophet_ , but I don’t want you running across some wand-happy student who will curse first and ask questions later if they see you,” she finishes breathlessly.

Harry nods. “Just give us a moment, would you?”

“I’ll wait outside.”

Somehow, the hut feels smaller even with Granger gone. Draco finds himself looking down at his arm, at the scars where the mark used to be. “I was ready to die,” he says, voice distant.

Harry fidgets beside him, but doesn’t move. “So was I. Back during the – I didn’t think I was going to make it out alive. It’s… it’s hard. When I realized I was alive after the final battle, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Nothing felt real for the longest time.”

“And now?”

“You feel real,” Harry says, and Draco turns to look at him. Harry’s very close. 

“It feels like a joke. Like the Aurors sent Granger in here to lure us into false complacency, and they’re waiting right outside.

“Hermione wouldn’t do that.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “I know that. But –”

“I get it.” Harry’s eyes soften a little behind his glasses. “Maybe after we talk to Professor McGonagall, it will feel more real. Come on.” 

Harry’s palm is a little sweaty when Draco takes his hand, but neither one of them lets go. Standing up makes Draco dizzy again, but small bubbles of relief are breaking through the disbelief. Harry hands him the Invisibility Cloak as Draco glances out the window. The sun is setting now, but there are still plenty of students around. He can see Granger, arms folded and looking in the direction of the castle while she waits for them. The grounds of the castle are wide open and lush in the late summer sunlight.

“Do you think –” He stops himself.

“Do I think what?”

“The castle is so crowded,” Draco hears himself say, but what he really means is: he’s spent the last year cooped up in prison, and he’s terrified of having that closed-in feeling around him again. Not to mention the students, who will probably be incessantly curious about the both of them. He’ll be hiding in his room to get away from them, and that will be exactly like his cell all over again.

“It is,” Harry says, watching him carefully.

“Do you think McGonagall would let us…” He gestures somewhat lamely at the hut around them. 

Harry catches on fast. “You’d want to live in a hut?” He can’t keep the incredulity from his voice, and Draco flushes even as he scowls at the ground. 

He knows it’s unlike him, completely at odds with what the spoiled child he’d been in his youth would’ve agreed to, much less suggested. But the hut is – it’s _nice_ , okay? It’s just large enough to make him feel like he can breathe, with big windows and an easy view of the castle, but small enough to feel comfortable. He doesn’t want Hagrid’s hut, no, but one that’s been created just for them –

“Sorry,” Harry says, and then he’s laughing even as he pulls Draco into a hug – and he’s so damn careful, giving Draco ample time to turn or step away, moving in only when he’s sure Draco’s okay with it. “I’m sure we can talk her into it. I would love that. Really. I can’t think of anything I’d like more.” He’s practically glowing.

“Are you certain?” 

“Yes, Draco. I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life. I should be asking if you’re sure. I haven’t been giving you much choice here.” Harry bites his lip.

“I’m sure,” Draco says, because there’s never been a question of that. He can’t bring himself to lean up and kiss Harry – not yet, anyway - but Harry must see the want in his eyes, because Harry easily closes the distance between them. Draco kisses him back with everything he has.

The pounding on the door makes them both jump apart, and then Granger yells, “Let’s go, you two! I’m not coming in there to see what you’re doing, so you better come out.”

“Bloody Hermione,” Harry mutters, though he’s blushing faintly. It’s a good look at him.

“It’s fine,” Draco says, touching his arm hesitantly. Harry smiles at him and takes the Invisibility Cloak, setting it around Draco’s shoulders.

“Yeah, it is,” he agrees, giving Draco one last kiss before dropping the cloak over his face. Draco shivers now that he can’t be seen, following him to the door, his heart pounding as he steps outside. Granger tries to give them a cross look but she can’t stop the smile tugging at her lips, especially when Harry gives her a kiss on the cheek. Then Draco, safely ensconced between Granger and Harry, takes his first walk across the Hogwarts grounds as a free man.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


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